


Pop!

by KittenTalesAuthor



Category: Original Work
Genre: Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Criminal Masterminds, Gen, Macabre, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:18:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenTalesAuthor/pseuds/KittenTalesAuthor
Summary: A detective and a serial killer finally come face-to-face for the grand finale of their chase after months of murders committed in the attempt to create masterpieces of art.





	Pop!

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a piece I got inspired to write from a song I discovered this past week. I also based a poem off of that song for my Creative Writing class, so both of those pieces were the driving force for this work of fiction!  
> I decided against using warnings on my work since AO3's warnings didn't exactly match up to my story, but I'll put a few warnings of my own here for any kiddies who happen to stumble upon this.
> 
> Up ahead there is a description of a crime scene, some cursing and implied violence. Reader's discretion is advised.

It’s the night the two had been preparing for – the showdown they’ve always known they would step into together.

Deep within an abandoned farmhouse amongst all the macabre secrets it holds within its gut stands the polar opposites, pistols cocked and pointed at one another in the dreary dark. A carnival of skin, hair, teeth, muscle, bone and blood decorates the shambles of the wooden building – the personal display of art this most heinous of killers had crafted all on his own. It looked like a scene straight out of a horror movie. Hanging on hooks were torn pieces of skin and muscle while on the floor laid the scattered remnants of bone, teeth and hair in pools of blood both old and new. The smell was engulfing, consuming – a demand for attention for these stands of hellish art. Cobwebs littered every corner of the structure, and surprisingly, had remained untouched by the disturbance at their wake. Black Widows crawled slowly along their carefully crafted webs as the audience this artisan had been crafting for. Now the widows all stand in attention, watching with their unblinking eyes as this final act between the artist and his most critical of critics begins to unfold.  

The detective’s chocolate brown eyes can’t seem to find a single thing to focus on. Before him stood the man he had been tracking for months, covered in blood with that gun of his staring him down, but even he didn’t take up all of his attention. This was the rookie’s first big case, a case he had poured his soul into hooking and invested blood, sweat and tears into cracking. He had been determined on doing this all on his own so he can find this personal demon of his and bring him behind bars with his own hands, but now that they were standing face-to-face, he didn’t feel as confident anymore. They were alone. Just the detective and the serial killer in the middle of a sea of carnage he never imagined a person would be capable of creating. There was no backup coming, no other cops in the area – this confrontation had been something unplanned and pulled off from an anonymous tip run into the station this morning.

This was against protocol. This wasn’t lawful. This wasn’t right, but he couldn’t let the opportunity to bring the grinning monster before him to justice so he could pay for his crimes, but that determined fire seemed to falter as fear genuinely settled within the detective’s heart – a fear this demented executioner immediately picked up on. Did this rookie really think this was his first rodeo? Did he really believe he had gone about his plans having absolutely no clue that he was zeroing in on his tracks? Oh no, no, he had always been aware of his presence. This little mouse of his, with those widened beady eyes and trembling hands wrapped around his weapon, was his toy. Playing with law enforcement had always been the most exciting part of crafting his art, and now that he had a rookie in his grasp? A little boy who thought he could play with the real men in the big leagues? He was beyond ecstatic.

“The gig’s up!” The rookie finally shouted at the killer, reaffirming his feet in the old hay beneath his feet, now painted a deep crimson. “Drop the gun and put your hands in the air! Turn yourself in peacefully and I won’t have to hurt you!”

A loud, guttural laugh escaped the killer’s mouth at that, his chest heaving in wholehearted amusement. “ _You_ hurt _me_?!” He tittered. “My boy, who are you trying to fool?! I can read you like an open book, rookie! You’re practically tremblin’ in your boots!” His sharp, dark eyes locked with that of the detective’s, grin widening across his thin, bloodied lips. “You won’t shoot me. You won’t even be able to touch me.” Old, tattered boots crunched hay beneath their soles as this basket case began to move, his motions sleek and calculated, gaze never once leaving that of the detective’s as he approached him.

“ _Don’t move!_ ” The rookie shouted once more, his hands tightening over his gun as his eyes widened further in sudden sinking horror. He couldn’t show fear! He couldn’t show apprehension! He had been put through the academy to face these exact kind of situations! So then, why couldn’t he control himself? Why couldn’t he hide his emotions? Why was his finger shaking on the trigger despite the words burning on his tongue? “Step any closer and I’ll shoot! Do not underestimate me!”

Still, he moved forward. The killer showed no apprehension, no hesitation. He walked on with confidence, casual, until he stood in front of the rookie with his gun still aimed right at him. Two glowering abyssal eyes now stared at two pale figures, a vision of the future flashing behind their minds, keeping the outcome a secret from their hosts.

“You won’t shoot me,” He repeated, cackling deeply, shoulders heaving with his deep laughter. “How could you when your hands are shaking so much? I can practically _smell_ the fear waftin’ off of ya, pal.” A brow arched above his sharp gaze, cocked upward in questionable glee. “I’m not afraid to die, either, Mister Detective,” He told him in a calmer tone, though the smile on his face never faltered even as he turned his own pistol on himself, pressing its muzzle against his temple. “Hell, I might be fucked up enough to end it all myself, bud. A single pull on this little trigger of mine, a quick click, and my brains will splatter. I’ve seen it for my own eyes a load of times by now, but an artist has gotta sign his work somehow, don’t he?”

His shaking started to get worse. Trembling down to the bone, the young detective felt a lump grow in his throat, hard and wedged, making it hard to breathe. His mind was fogging up, adrenaline dominating his blood as it coursed through his body without remorse. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, loud and clear; **_BA-DUM BA-DUM BA-DUM._** The monster was right: he _is_ scared. More so than he would like to admit. However, despite the fear and inner turmoil, the rookie fixed his aim on the center of the killer’s forehead with a sharpened gaze.

“I gave everything I had to take this case up,” He told the macabre artist, his forefinger brushing his pistol’s trigger, ready to pull. “I’ve been tracking you down for _months_ since you killed my younger sister like the sick bastard you are.” He narrowed his sights to a loathing, seething glare despite his shaking. “ _You underestimate me._ I am _not_ leaving this place until I reach a resolution.”

Cracked lips stretched on and on into widened mocking grins, eyes wide, taunting. The killer had no respect. He only saw a toy before him at his feet, begging for him to play and amuse the two of them. In the end, that’s all this was to him – just a game the two of them were playing together. “I know you’ve been chasing me for a long time now, Mister Detective,” He mused, his tongue running along his lips for a moment. “It wasn’t hard to find out that you were on my trail since I added that pretty little thing to my masterpiece. I have to say!” He snickered heavily. “I’ve been waitin’ with bated breath to reunite ya with her! Wouldn’t you like that, Mister Detective? To see your dear ole sissy again?”

“Enough of your crap! The only reunion there’s gonna be is yours with the Devil! You’re just _begging_ me to shoot!” The rookie snapped, unable to hold himself back. He could feel his trembling getting worse again, but this time it was out of anger instead of fear.

“You want to shoot me?” The killer brought his lips together, thinning them to a brilliant smile. Leaning forward, he casually brought his free hand up to grip onto the detective’s pistol. Grabbing it by the barrel, he guided it up to his forehead and pressed the muzzle against his own hot, pale skin. Soon afterwards, he raised his own gun and pushed its muzzle against the rookie’s forehead, his lips twitching when he caught the paling of the young man’s expression. “ _Then shoot me!_ ” He cried out in his face with a broken cackle. Their eyes remained locked, heartbeats in sync, both of their fingers on both of their triggers. “ _Prove you can pull that trigger, Mister Detective! Fill my head with lead! Blow my brains out and sign my work for me!”_

 

**_POP!_ **

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End file.
